only rats. Jackals would already
have attacked.
Then when he returned to the wriggling
tunnel at last, to make his way back toward the entry and the great
cave, his nerve failed him. If he were trapped in there by the
jackals attacking from behind him or at his face, there would be no
way to fight them.
But they couldn’t have come through; it was
too narrow for them.
He took off his clothes and stowed them in
the pack, tied the chain tightly around his leg, tied pack and
waterskin to the cord and the other end around his waist. Then,
knife in one hand and lamp in the other, he lay down and slid into
the tunnel.
He wriggled through faster this time. Soon
he was out of it, the ordeal behind him, and no sight or sound of
the jackals. Only the crawling tunnel remained ahead, and already
he could see daylight filtering in. He dressed and went on.
He reached the great cave again, and again
held his lamp up. There was power here that drew him, and again in
the flicking light all the animals seemed to come alive, the
unicorn and foxes, the great wolves and the big cats, the badger
hermits and the winging owls and the laughing, gamboling otters. He
had no notion how long he had stood looking when he heard again a
small shuffling, then a stone dislodged behind him somewhere near
Nison-Serth’s entrance. He spun just in time to catch the flash of
a small pale shape vanishing beyond the cave door.
It was too small to frighten him, but far
bigger than any rat. He followed it, skirting the tall boulders
that made the passage wall, then stood staring down the passage and
into the four caves he could see. Nothing moved. He started to turn
away, and then quite suddenly there were pale creatures all around
him come out of the caves like magic, come out of the
shadows—foxes, kit foxes crowding all around him, standing on their
hind legs to touch him and stare at him. “Tebriel,” they barked.
“You are Tebriel.” He fell to his knees and put out his arms, and
they crowded close—pale silver foxes, their faces narrow and jaunty
and sly, their sharp little mouths open with laughter, their bushy
tails waving, a dozen kit foxes as innocent and laughing and
welcome as anything a boy could have dreamed. “We welcome you,
Tebriel, Tebriel of Auric,” barked the largest dog fox, who surely
was their leader. He nuzzled Teb, and stood laughing.
“Yes, I am Tebriel. How did you know?” He
hugged and petted them. They were warm and sleek, silky and soft.
They licked his face and hands, their teeth as white as new snow,
their dark eyes so filled with merriment that Teb laughed out loud
and drank in their sharp, foxy smell.
While he crouched there with them, laughing
with them for no reason and for every reason, for the sheer delight
of their meeting, another fox appeared alone at the portal, a
silhouette against the morning sky, a lone sentinel. She yapped
once, then ran to them.
“The riders come along the ridge,” she
panted. “They have jackals! Stinking jackals! ” She
went directly to sit before the big dog fox. “The riders follow the
boy, as you said they would, Pixen.”
Pixen reared and stood looking around him.
“Quickly, into the tunnel of pillars, into the southern den.”
The foxes leaped and pushed at Teb. He ran
with them, the light from his lantern swinging in arcs along the
cave walls until Pixen barked, “Put the light out.” Teb stopped and
blew out the candle. He could see nothing, and was propelled ahead,
stumbling, by the foxes pressing and urging him on.
“Left!” Pixen cried. “Left, and duck. Crawl
through, Tebriel, quickly. Squeeze through; it’s not far.”
He did as he was told, crouched, then found
he must go on his belly. He pushed pack and lamp and waterskin in
first, could feel the foxes behind him pressing him on. The stone
scraped his back, and he thought he would be terrified again; then,
as suddenly as it had started, the crawl was ended.
“Stand up, Tebriel. You can stand. But
have attacked.
Then when he returned to the wriggling
tunnel at last, to make his way back toward the entry and the great
cave, his nerve failed him. If he were trapped in there by the
jackals attacking from behind him or at his face, there would be no
way to fight them.
But they couldn’t have come through; it was
too narrow for them.
He took off his clothes and stowed them in
the pack, tied the chain tightly around his leg, tied pack and
waterskin to the cord and the other end around his waist. Then,
knife in one hand and lamp in the other, he lay down and slid into
the tunnel.
He wriggled through faster this time. Soon
he was out of it, the ordeal behind him, and no sight or sound of
the jackals. Only the crawling tunnel remained ahead, and already
he could see daylight filtering in. He dressed and went on.
He reached the great cave again, and again
held his lamp up. There was power here that drew him, and again in
the flicking light all the animals seemed to come alive, the
unicorn and foxes, the great wolves and the big cats, the badger
hermits and the winging owls and the laughing, gamboling otters. He
had no notion how long he had stood looking when he heard again a
small shuffling, then a stone dislodged behind him somewhere near
Nison-Serth’s entrance. He spun just in time to catch the flash of
a small pale shape vanishing beyond the cave door.
It was too small to frighten him, but far
bigger than any rat. He followed it, skirting the tall boulders
that made the passage wall, then stood staring down the passage and
into the four caves he could see. Nothing moved. He started to turn
away, and then quite suddenly there were pale creatures all around
him come out of the caves like magic, come out of the
shadows—foxes, kit foxes crowding all around him, standing on their
hind legs to touch him and stare at him. “Tebriel,” they barked.
“You are Tebriel.” He fell to his knees and put out his arms, and
they crowded close—pale silver foxes, their faces narrow and jaunty
and sly, their sharp little mouths open with laughter, their bushy
tails waving, a dozen kit foxes as innocent and laughing and
welcome as anything a boy could have dreamed. “We welcome you,
Tebriel, Tebriel of Auric,” barked the largest dog fox, who surely
was their leader. He nuzzled Teb, and stood laughing.
“Yes, I am Tebriel. How did you know?” He
hugged and petted them. They were warm and sleek, silky and soft.
They licked his face and hands, their teeth as white as new snow,
their dark eyes so filled with merriment that Teb laughed out loud
and drank in their sharp, foxy smell.
While he crouched there with them, laughing
with them for no reason and for every reason, for the sheer delight
of their meeting, another fox appeared alone at the portal, a
silhouette against the morning sky, a lone sentinel. She yapped
once, then ran to them.
“The riders come along the ridge,” she
panted. “They have jackals! Stinking jackals! ” She
went directly to sit before the big dog fox. “The riders follow the
boy, as you said they would, Pixen.”
Pixen reared and stood looking around him.
“Quickly, into the tunnel of pillars, into the southern den.”
The foxes leaped and pushed at Teb. He ran
with them, the light from his lantern swinging in arcs along the
cave walls until Pixen barked, “Put the light out.” Teb stopped and
blew out the candle. He could see nothing, and was propelled ahead,
stumbling, by the foxes pressing and urging him on.
“Left!” Pixen cried. “Left, and duck. Crawl
through, Tebriel, quickly. Squeeze through; it’s not far.”
He did as he was told, crouched, then found
he must go on his belly. He pushed pack and lamp and waterskin in
first, could feel the foxes behind him pressing him on. The stone
scraped his back, and he thought he would be terrified again; then,
as suddenly as it had started, the crawl was ended.
“Stand up, Tebriel. You can stand. But
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